Diary of Adam Gurowski: May 1861

RUMORS that the President, the administration, or whoever has it in his hands, is to take the offensive, make a demonstration on Virginia and on Baltimore. But these ups and downs, these vacillations, are daily occurrences, and nothing points to a firm purpose, to a decided policy, or any policy whatever of the administration.

A great principle and a great cause cannot be served and cannot be saved by half measures, and still less by tricks and by paltry expedients. But the administration is tossed by expedients. Nothing is hitherto done, and this denotes a want of any firm decision.

Mr. Seward's letter to Dayton, a first manifesto to foreign nations, and the first document of the new Minister of Foreign Affairs. It is bold, high-toned, and American, but it has dark shadows; shows an inexperienced hand in diplomacy and in dealing with events. The passages about the frequent changes in Europe are unnecessary, and unprovoked by anything whatever. It is especially offensive to France, to the French people, and to Louis Napoleon. It is bosh, but in Europe they will consider it as une politique provocatrice.

For the present complications, diplomatic relations ought to be conducted with firmness, with dignity, but not with an arrogant, offensive assumption, not in the spirit of spread-eagleism; no brass, but reason and decision.

Americans will find out how absolute are the laws of history, as stern and as positive as all the other laws of nature. To me it is clear that one phasis of American political growth, development, &c., is gone, is finished. It is the phasis of the Union as created by the Constitution. This war—war it will be, and a terrible one, notwithstanding all the prophecies of Mr. Seward to the contrary—this war will generate new social and constitutional necessities and new formulas. New conceptions and new passions will spring up; in one word, it will bring forth new social, physical, and moral creations: so we are in the period of gestation.

Democracy, the true, the noble, that which constitutes the signification of America in the progress of our race—democracy will not be destroyed. All the inveterate enemies here and in Europe, all who already joyously sing the funeral songs of democracy, all of them will become disgraced. Democracy will emerge more pure, more powerful, more rational; destroyed will be the most infamous oligarchy ever known in history; oligarchy issued neither from the sword, nor the gown, nor the shop, but wombed, generated, cemented, and sustained by traffic in man.

The famous Russell, of the London Times, is what I always thought him to be—a graphic, imaginative writer, with power of description of all he sees, but not the slightest insight in events, in men, in institutions. Russell is not able to find out the epidermis under a shirt. And they make so much fuss about him; Seward brings him to the first cabinet dinner given by the President; Mrs. Lincoln sends him bouquets; and this man, Russell, will heap blunders upon blunders.

The pressure on the administration for decided, energetic action increases from all sides. Seldom, anywhere, an administration receives so many moral kicks as does this one; but it seems to stand them with serenity. Oh, for a clear, firm, well-defined purpose!

The country, the people demands an attack on Virginia, on Richmond, and Baltimore; the country, better than the military authorities, understands the political and military necessities; the people has the consciousness that if fighting is done instantly, it will be done cheaply and thoroughly by a move of its finger. The administration can double the number of men under arms, but hesitates.

What slow coaches, and what ignorance of human nature and of human events. The knowing ones, the wiseacres, will be the ruin of this country. They poison the sound reason of the people.

What the d---- is Seward with his politicians' policy? What can signify his close alliance with such outlaws as Wikoff and the Herald, and pushing that sheet to abuse England and Lord Lyons? Wikoff is, so to speak, an inmate of Seward's house and office, and Wikoff declared publicly that the telegram contained in the Herald, and so violent against England and Lord Lyons, was written under Seward's dictation. Wikoff, I am told, showed the MS. corrected in Seward's handwriting. Lord Lyons is menaced with passports. Is this man mad? Can Seward for a moment believe that Wikoff knows Europe, or has any influence? He may know the low resorts there. Can Seward be fool enough to irritate England, and entangle this country? Even my anglophobia cannot stand it. Wrote about it warning letters to New York, to Barney, to Opdyke, to Wadsworth, &c.

The whole District a great camp; the best population from the North in rank and file. More intelligence, industry, and all good national and intellectual qualities represented in those militia and volunteer regiments, than in any—not only army, but society in Europe. Artisans, mechanics of all industries, of trade, merchants, bankers, lawyers; all pursuits and professions. Glorious, heart-elevating sight! These regiments want only a small touch of military organization.

Weeks run, troops increase, and not the first step made to organize them into an army, to form brigades, not to say divisions; not yet two regiments manœuvring together. What a strange idea the military chief or chiefs, or department, or somebody, must have of what it is to organize an army. Not the first letter made. Can it be ignorance of this elementary knowledge with which is familiar every corporal in Europe? When will they start, when begin to mould an army?

The administration was not composed for this emergency, and is not up to it. The government hesitates, is inexperienced, and will unavoidably make heaps of mistakes, which may endanger the cause, and for which, at any rate, the people is terribly to pay. The loss in men and material will be very considerable before the administration will get on the right track. It is painful to think, nay, to be sure of it. Then the European anti-Union politicians and diplomats will credit the disasters to the inefficiency of self-government. The diplomats, accustomed to the rapid, energetic action of a supreme or of a centralized power, laugh at the trepidation of ours. But the fault is not in the principle of self-government, but in the accident which brought to the helm such an amount of inexperience. Monarchy with a feeble head is even in a worse predicament. Louis XV, the Spanish and Neapolitan Bourbons, Gustavus IV., &c., are thereof the historical evidences.

May the shock of events bring out new lights from the people! One day the administration is to take the initiative, that is, the offensive, then it recedes from it. No one understands the organization and handling of such large bodies. They are to make their apprenticeship, if only it may not to be too dearly paid. But they cannot escape the action of that so positive law in nature, in history, and, above all, absolute in war.

Wrote to Charles Sumner, suggesting that the ice magnates send here from Boston ice for hospitals.

The war now waged against the free States is one made by the most hideous sauvagerie against a most perfectioned and progressive civilization. History records not a similar event. It is a hideous phenomenon, disgracing our race, and it is so, look on it from whatever side you will.

A new man from the people, like Governor Andrew, of Massachusetts, acts promptly, decisively; feels and speaks ardently, and not as the rhetors. Andrew is the incarnation of the Massachusetts, nay, of the genuine American people. I must become acquainted with Andrew. Thousands of others like Andrew exist in all the States. Can anybody be a more noble incarnation of the American people than J. S. Wadsworth? I become acquainted with numerous men whom I honor as the true American men. So Boutwell, of Massachusetts, Curtis Noyes, Senator Wade, Trumbull, Walcott, from Ohio, Senator King, Chandler, and many, many true patriots.

Senator Wilson, my old friend, is up to the mark; a man of the people, but too mercurial.

Captain or Major Lyon in St. Louis, the first initiator or revelator of what is the absolute law of necessity in questions of national death or life. Lyon jumped over formulas, over routine, over clumsy discipline and martinetism, and saved St. Louis and Missouri.

It is positively asserted that General Scott's first impression was to court-martial Lyon for this breach of discipline, for having acted on his own patriotic responsibility.

Can Scott be such a dried-up, narrow-minded disciplinarian, and he the Egeria of Lincoln! Oh! oh! Diplomats tell me that Seward uses the dictatorial I, speaking of the government. Three cheers for the new Louis XIV.!

Governor Banks would be excellent for the Intendant General de l'Armée: they call it here General Quartermaster. Awful disorder and slowness prevail in this cardinal branch of the army. Wrote to Sumner concerning Banks.

Gen. Butler took Baltimore; did what ought to have been done a long time ago. Butler did it on his own responsibility, without orders. Butler acted upon the same principle as Lyon, and, horrabile dictu, astonished, terrified the parleying administration. Scott wishes to put Butler under arrest; happily Lincoln resisted his boss (so Mr. Lincoln called Scott before a deputation from Baltimore). Scott, Patterson, and Mansfield made a beautiful strategical horror! They began to speak of strategy; plan to approach Baltimore on three different roads, and with about 35,000 men. Butler did it one morning with two regiments, and kicked over the senile strategians in council.

The administration speaks with pride of its forbearing, that is, parleying, policy. The people, the country, requires action. Congressus impar Achilli: Achilles, the people, and Congressus the forbearing administration.

Music, parades, serenades, receptions, &c., &c., only no genuine military organization. They do it differently on the other side of the Potomac. There the leaders are in earnest.

Met Gov. Sprague and asked him when he would have a brigade; his answer was, soon; but this soon comes very slow.

News from England. Lord John Russell declared in Parliament that the Queen, or the English government, will recognize the rebels in the condition of "belligerents." O England, England! The declaration is too hasty. Lord John cannot have had news of the proclamation of the blockade when he made that declaration. The blockade could have served him as an excuse for the haste. English aristocracy and government show thus their enmity to the North, and their partiality to slavers. What will the anglophiles of Boston say to this?

Neither England or France, or anybody in Europe, recognized the condition of "belligerents" to Poles, when we fought in Russia in 1831. Were the Magyars recognized as such in 1848-49? Lord Palmerston called the German flag hard names in the war with Denmark for Schleswig-Holstein; and now he bows to the flag of slavers and pirates. If the English statesmen have not some very particular reason for this hasty, uncalled-for condescension to the enemies of humanity, then curse upon the English government. I recollect that European powers recognized the Greeks "belligerents" (Austria opposed) in their glorious struggle against the slavers, the Turks. But then this stretching of positive, international comity,—this stretching was done in the interest of freedom, of right, and of humanity, against savages and slaughterers. On the present occasion England did the reverse. O England, England, thou Judas Iscariot of nations! Seward said to John Jacob Astor, and to a New York deputation, that this English declaration concerning "belligerents" is a mere formality, having no bearing at all. I told the contrary to Astor and to others, assuring them that Mr. Seward will soon find, to the cost of the people and to his own, how much complication and trouble this mere formality will occasion, and occasion it before long. Is Seward so ignorant of international laws, of general or special history, or was it only said to throw dust? Wrote about the "belligerents" a warning letter to the President.

Butler, in command of Fortress Monroe, proposes to land in Virginia and to take Norfolk; Scott, the highest military authority in the land, opposes. Has Scott used up his energy, his sense, and even his military judgment in defending Washington before the inauguration? He is too old; his brains, cerebellum, must be dried up.

Imbecility in a leader is often, nay always, more dangerous than treason; the people can find out easily, too—treason, but is disarmed against imbecility.

What a thoughtlessness to press on Russia the convention of Paris? Russia has already a treaty with America, but in case of a war with England, the Russian ports on the Pacific, and the only one accessible to Americans, will be closed to them by the convention of Paris.

The governors of the States of Ohio, Illinois, Pennsylvania assure the protection of their respective States to the Union men of the Border States. What a bitter criticism on the slow, forbearing policy of the administration. Mr. Lincoln seems to be a rather slow intellect, with slow powers of perception. However, patience; perhaps the shock of events will arouse and bring in action now latent, but good and energetic qualities. As it stands now, the administration, being the focus of activity, is tepid, if not cold and slow; the circumference, that is, the people, the States, are full of fire and of activity. This condition is altogether the reverse of the physiological and all other natural laws, and this may turn out badly, as nature's laws never can be with impunity reversed or violated.

The diplomats complain that Seward treats them with a certain rudeness; that he never gives them time to explain and speak, but interrupts by saying, "I know it all," etc. If he had knowledge of things, and of the diplomatic world, he would be aware that the more firmness he has to use, the more politeness, even fastidiousness, he is to display. Scott does not wish for any bold demonstration, for any offensive movement. The reason may be, that he is too old, too crippled, to be able to take the field in person, and too inflated by conceit to give the glory of the active command to any other man. Wrote to Charles Sumner in Boston to stir up some inventive Yankee to construct a wheelbarrow in which Scott could take the field in person.

In a conversation with Seward, I called his attention to the fact that the government is surrounded by the finest, most complicated, intense, and well-spread web of treason that ever was spun; that almost all that constitutes society and is in a daily, nay hourly, contact with the various branches of the Executive, all this, with soul, mind, and heart is devoted to the rebels. I observed to him that si licet exemplis in parvo grandibus uti. Napoleon suffered more from the bitter hostility of the faubourg St. Germain, than from the armies of the enemy; and here it is still worse, as this hostility runs out into actual, unrelenting treason. To this Mr. Seward answered with the utmost serenity, "that before long all this will change; that when he became governor of New York, a similar hostility prevailed between the two sections of that State, but soon he pacified "everything." What a Merlin! what a sorcerer!

Some simple-minded persons from the interior of the State of New York questioned Mr. Seward, in my presence, about Europe, and "what they will do there?" To this, with a voice of the Delphic oracle, he responded, "that after all France is not bigger than the State of New York." Is it possible to say such trash even as a joke?

Finally, the hesitations of General Scott are overcome. "Virginia's sacred soil is invaded;" Potomac crossed; looks like a beginning of activity; Scott consented to move on Arlington Heights, but during two or three days opposed the seizure of Alexandria. Is that all that he knows of that hateful watchword—strategy—nausea repeated by every ignoramus and imbecile ?

Alexandria being a port of entry, and having a railroad, is more a strategic point for the invasion of Virginia than are Arlington Heights.

The brave Ellsworth murdered in Alexandria, and Scott insisted that Alexandria be invaded and occupied by night. In all probability, Ellsworth would not have been murdered if this villanous nest had been entered by broad daylight. As if the troops were committing a crime, or a shameful act! O General Scott! but for you Ellsworth would not have been murdered.

General McDowell made a plan to seize upon Manassas as the centre of railroads, the true defence of Washington, and the firm foothold in Virginia.

Nobody, or only few enemies, were in Manassas. McDowell shows his genuine military insight. Scott, and, as I am told, the whole senile military council, opposed McDowell's plan as being too bold. Do these mummies intend to conduct a war without boldness?

Thick clouds of patriotic, well-intentioned harpies surround all the issues of the executive doors, windows, crevasses, all of them ready to turn an honest, or rather dishonest, penny out of the fatherland. Behind the harpies advance the busy-bodies, the would-be well-informed, and a promiscuous crowd of well-intentioned do-nothings.

SOURCE: Adam Gurowski, Diary from March 4, 1861, to November 12, 1862, p. 37-49

Diary of Benjamin F. Pearson, August 9, 1862

We had a war meeting here in Centerville Judge Harris TM Fee, Mr Ellsworth a Cousin to the lamented Col Ellsworth that was killed by the tory Jackson, speakers at our meeting

SOURCE: Edgar R. Harlan, Currator, Annals of Iowa, 3rd Series, Vol. 15, No. 2, October 1925, p. 86

Diary of William Howard Russell: July 2, 1861

At early dawn this morning, looking out of the sleeping car, I saw through the mist a broad, placid river on the right, and on the left high wooded banks running sharply into the stream, against the base of which the rails were laid. West Point, which is celebrated for its picturesque scenery, as much as for its military school, could not be seen through the fog, and I regretted time did not allow me to stop and pay a visit to the academy. I was obliged to content myself with the handiwork of some of the ex-pupils. The only camaraderie I have witnessed in America exists among the West Point men. It is to Americans what our great public schools are to young Englishmen. To take a high place at West Point is to be a first-class man, or wrangler. The academy turns out a kind of military aristocracy, and I have heard complaints that the Irish and Germans are almost completely excluded, because the nominations to West Point are obtained by political influence; and the foreign element, though powerful at the ballot-box, has no enduring strength. The Murphies and Schmidts seldom succeed in shoving their sons into the American institution. North and South, I have observed, the old pupils refer everything military to West Point. “I was with Beauregard at West Point. He was three above me.” Or, “McDowell and I were in the same class.” An officer is measured by what he did there, and if professional jealousies date from the state of common pupilage, so do lasting friendships. I heard Beauregard, Lawton, Hardee, Bragg, and others, speak of McDowell, Lyon, McClellan, and other men of the academy, as their names turned up in the Northern papers, evidently judging of them by the old school standard. The number of men who have been educated there greatly exceeds the modest requirements of the army. But there is likelihood of their being all in full work very soon.

At about nine, A. M., the train reached New York, and in driving to the house of Mr. Duncan, who accompanied me from Niagara, the first thing which struck me was the changed aspect of the streets. Instead of peaceful citizens, men in military uniforms thronged the pathways, and such multitudes of United States flags floated from the windows and roofs of the houses as to convey the impression that it was a great holiday festival. The appearance of New York when I first saw it was very different. For one day, indeed, after my arrival, there were men in uniform to be seen in the streets, but they disappeared after St. Patrick had been duly honored, and it was very rarely I ever saw a man in soldier's clothes during the rest of my stay. Now, fully a third of the people carried arms, and were dressed in some kind of martial garb.

The walls are covered with placards from military companies offering inducements to recruits. An outburst of military tailors has taken place in the streets; shops are devoted to militia equipments; rifles, pistols, swords, plumes, long boots, saddle, bridle, camp belts, canteens, tents, knapsacks, have usurped the place of the ordinary articles of traffic. Pictures and engravings — bad, and very bad — of the “battles” of Big Bethel and Vienna, full of furious charges, smoke and dismembered bodies, have driven the French prints out of the windows. Innumerable "General Scott's" glower at you from every turn, making the General look wiser than he or any man ever was. Ellsworths in almost equal proportion, Grebles and Winthrops — the Union martyrs — and Tompkins, the temporary hero of Fairfax court-house.

The “flag of our country” is represented in a colored engraving, the original of which was not destitute of poetical feeling, as an angry blue sky through which meteors fly streaked by the winds, whilst between the red stripes the stars just shine out from the heavens, the flag-staff being typified by a forest tree bending to the force of the blast. The Americans like this idea — to my mind it is significant of bloodshed and disaster. And why not! What would become of all these pseudo-Zouaves who have come out like an eruption over the States, and are in no respect, not even in their baggy breeches, like their great originals, if this war were not to go on? I thought I had had enough of Zouaves in New Orleans, but dȋs aliter visum.

They are overrunning society, and the streets here, and the dress which becomes the broad-chested, stumpy, short-legged Celt, who seems specially intended for it, is singularly unbecoming to the tall and slightly-built American. Songs “On to glory,” “Our country,” new versions of “Hail Columbia,” which certainly cannot be considered by even American complacency a “happy land” when its inhabitants are preparing to cut each other's throats; of the “star-spangled banner,” are displayed in booksellers’ and music-shop windows, and patriotic sentences emblazoned on flags float from many houses. The ridiculous habit of dressing up children and young people up to ten and twelve years of age as Zouaves and vivandières has been caught up by the old people, and Mars would die with laughter if he saw some of the abdominous, be-spectacled light infantry men who are hobbling along the pavement.

There has been indeed a change in New York; externally it is most remarkable, but I cannot at all admit that the abuse with which I was assailed for describing the indifference which prevailed on my arrival was in the least degree justified. I was desirous of learning how far the tone of conversation “in the city” had altered, and soon after breakfast I went down Broadway to Pine Street and Wall Street. The street in all its length was almost draped with flags — the warlike character of the shops was intensified. In front of one shop window there was a large crowd gazing with interest at some object which I at last succeeded in feasting my eyes upon. A gray cap with a tinsel badge in front, and the cloth stained with blood was displayed, with the words, “Cap of Secession officer killed in action.” On my way I observed another crowd of women, some with children in their arms standing in front of a large house and gazing up earnestly and angrily at the windows. I found they were wives, mothers, and sisters, and daughters of volunteers who had gone off and left them destitute.

The misery thus caused has been so great that the citizens of New York have raised a fund to provide food, clothes, and a little money — a poor relief, in fact, for them, and it was plain they were much needed, though some of the applicants did not seem to belong to a class accustomed to seek aid from the public. This already! But Wall Street and Pine Street are bent on battle. And so this day, hot from the South and impressed with the firm resolve of the people, and finding that the North has been lashing itself into fury, I sit down and write to England, on my return from the city. “At present dismiss entirely the idea, no matter how it may originate, that there will be, or can be, peace, compromise, union, or secession, till war has determined the issue.”

As long as there was a chance that the struggle might not take place, the merchants of New York were silent, fearful of offending their Southern friends and connections, but inflicting infinite damage on their own government and misleading both sides. Their sentiments, sympathies, and business bound them with the South; and, indeed, till “the glorious uprising” the South believed New York was with them, as might be credited from the tone of some organs in the press, and I remember hearing it said by Southerners in Washington, that it was very likely New York would go out of the Union! When the merchants, however, saw the South was determined to quit the Union, they resolved to avert the permanent loss of the great profits derived from their connection with the South by some present sacrifices. They rushed to the platforms — the battle-cry was sounded from almost every pulpit — flag-raisings took place in every square, like the planting of the tree of liberty in France in 1848, and the oath was taken to trample Secession under foot, and to quench the fire of the Southern heart forever.

The change in manner, in tone, in argument, is most remarkable. I met men to-day who last March argued coolly and philosophically about the right of Secession. They are now furious at the idea of such wickedness — furious with England, because she does not deny their own famous doctrine of the sacred right of insurrection. “We must maintain our glorious Union, sir.” “We must have a country.” “We cannot allow two nations to grow up on this Continent, sir.” “We must possess the entire control of the Mississippi.” These “musts,” and can’ts,” and “won'ts,” are the angry utterances of a spirited people who have had their will so long that they at last believe it is omnipotent. Assuredly, they will not have it over the South without a tremendous and long-sustained contest, in which they must put forth every exertion, and use all the resources and superior means they so abundantly possess.

It is absurd to assert, as do the New York people, to give some semblance of reason to their sudden outburst, that it was caused by the insult to the flag at Sumter. Why, the flag had been fired on long before Sumter was attacked by the Charleston batteries! It had been torn down from United States arsenals and forts all over the South; and but for the accident which placed Major Anderson in a position from which he could not retire, there would have been no bombardment of the fort, and it would, when evacuated, have shared the fate of all the other Federal works on the Southern coast. Some of the gentlemen who are now so patriotic and Unionistic, were last March prepared to maintain that if the President attempted to reenforce Sumter or Pickens, he would be responsible for the destruction of the Union. Many journals in New York and out of it held the same doctrine.

One word to these gentlemen. I am pretty well satisfied that if they had always spoken, written, and acted as they do now, the people of Charleston would not have attacked Sumter so readily. The abrupt outburst of the North and the demonstration at New York filled the South, first with astonishment, and then with something like fear, which was rapidly fanned into anger by the press and the politicians, as well as by the pride inherent in slaveholders.

I wonder what Mr. Seward will say when I get back to Washington. Before I left, he was of opinion — at all events, he stated — that all the States would come back, at the rate of one a month. The nature of the process was not stated; but we are told there are 250,000 Federal troops now under arms, prepared to try a new one.

Combined with the feeling of animosity to the rebels, there is, I perceive, a good deal of ill-feeling towards Great Britain. The Southern papers are so angry with us for the Order in Council closing British ports against privateers and their prizes, that they advise Mr. Rust and Mr. Yancey to leave Europe. We are in evil case between North and South. I met a reverend doctor, who is most bitter in his expressions towards us; and I dare say, Bishop and General Leonidas Polk, down South, would not be much better disposed. The clergy are active on both sides; and their flocks approve of their holy violence. One journal tells, with much gusto, of a blasphemous chaplain, a remarkably good rifle shot, who went into one of the skirmishes lately, and killed a number of rebels — the joke being, in fact, that each time he' fired and brought down his man, he exclaimed, piously, “May Heaven have mercy on your soul!” One Father Mooney, who performed the novel act, for a clergyman, of “christening” a big gun at Washington the other day, wound up the speech he made on the occasion, by declaring “the echo of its voice would be sweet music, inviting the children of Columbia to share the comforts of his father's home.” Can impiety and folly and bad taste go further?

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, Vol. 1, p. 367-72

Diary of John Hay: April 20, 1861

Colonel Washington called this morning but could not see the President.

It would seem like a happy chance to have a General Washington living and fighting among us at this time.

The streets were full of the talk of Baltimore. It seems to be generally thought that a mere handful of men has raised this storm that now threatens the loyalty of a State.

I went up with Nicolay, Pangborn and Whitley to see the Massachusetts troops quartered in the Capitol. The scene was very novel. The contrast was very painful between the grey-haired dignity that filled the Senate Chamber when I saw it last, and the present throng of bright-looking Yankee boys, the most of them bearing the signs of New England rusticity in voice and manner, scattered over the desks, chairs and galleries, some loafing, many writing letters slowly and with plough-hardened hands, or with rapid-glancing clerkly fingers, while Grow stood patient by the desk and franked for everybody. The Hall of Representatives is as yet empty. Lying on a sofa and looking upward, the magnificence of the barracks made me envy the soldiers who should be quartered there. The wide-spreading sky-lights overarching the vast hall like heaven, blushed and blazed with gold and the heraldic devices of the married States, while, all around it, the eye was rested by the massive simple splendor of the stalagmitic bronze reliefs. The spirit of our institutions seemed visibly present to inspire and nerve the acolyte, sleeping in her temple beside his unfleshed sword . . . .

The town is full to-night of feverish rumors about a meditated assault upon the town, and one, which seems to me more probable, on Fort McHenry. The garrison there, is weak and inadequate, and in spite of the acknowledged bravery of Robinson and Hazard, it must fall if attacked.

Ellsworth telegraphs that his regiment has been raised, accepted, and that he wants them sent to Fort Hamilton for preliminary drill. Cameron authorised the answer that the commander there should have orders to that effect. Much is hoped from the gallant Colonel's Bloodtubs. They would be worth their weight in Virginia currency in Fort McHenry to-night.

The Massachusetts men drilled to-night on the Avenue. They afford a happy contrast to the unlicked patriotism that has poured ragged and unarmed out of Pennsylvania. They step together well, and look as if they meant business.

Jim Lane wrote a note to the President to-day, offering to bring any assignable number of northern fighting men over the border at the shortest possible notice. Gen. Scott seems to think that four or five thousand men will be a sufficient garrison to hold this town against any force that may be brought out from Maryland or Virginia woods.

SOURCES: Clara B. Hay, Letters of John Hay and Extracts from Diary, Volume 1, p. 13; Tyler Dennett, Editor, Lincoln and the Civil War in the Diaries and Letters of John Hay, Da Cappo Press, 1988 (Paperback), p. 4-6

Diary of William Howard Russell: May 25, 1861

Virginia has indeed been invaded by the Federals. Alexandria has been seized. It is impossible to describe the excitement and rage of the people; they take, however, some consolation in the fact that Colonel Ellsworth, in command of a regiment of New York Zouaves, was shot by J. T. Jackson, the landlord of an inn in the city, called the Marshall House. Ellsworth, on the arrival of his regiment in Alexandria, proceeded to take down the Secession flag, which had been long seen from the President's windows. He went out upon the roof, cut it from the staff, and was proceeding with it down-stairs, when a man rushed out of a room, levelled a double-barrelled gun, shot Colonel Ellsworth dead, and fired the other barrel at one of his men, who had struck at the piece, when the murderer presented it at the Colonel. Almost instantaneously, the Zouave shot Jackson in the head, and as he was falling dead thrust his sabre bayonet through his body. Strange to say, the people of New Orleans, consider Jackson was completely right, in shooting the Federal Colonel, and maintain that the Zouave, who shot Jackson, was guilty of murder. Their theory is that Ellsworth had come over with a horde of ruffianly abolitionists, or, as the “Richmond Examiner” has it, “the band of thieves, robbers, and assassins in the pay of Abraham Lincoln, commonly known as the United States Army,” to violate the territory of a sovereign State, in order to execute their bloody and brutal purposes, and that he was in the act of committing a robbery, by taking a flag which did not belong to him, when he met his righteous fate.

It is curious to observe how passion blinds man's reason, in this quarrel. More curious still to see, by the light of this event, how differently the same occurrence is viewed by Northerners and Southerners respectively. Jackson is depicted in the Northern papers as a fiend and an assassin; even his face in death is declared to have worn a revolting expression of rage and hate. The Confederate flag which was the cause of the fatal affray, is described by one writer, as having been purified of its baseness, by contact with Ellsworth's blood. The invasion of Virginia is hailed on all sides of the North with the utmost enthusiasm. “Ellsworth is a martyr hero, whose name is to be held sacred forever.”

On the other hand, the Southern papers declare that the invasion of Virginia, is “an act of the Washington tyrants, which indicates their bloody and brutal purpose to exterminate the Southern people. The Virginians will give the world another proof, like that of Moscow, that a free people, fighting on a free soil, are invincible when contending for all that is dear to man.” Again — “A band of execrable cut-Croats and jail-birds, known as the Zouaves of New York, under that chief of all scoundrels, Ellsworth, broke open the door of a citizen, to tear down the flag of the house — the courageous owner met the favorite hero of the Yankees in his own hall, alone, against thousands, and shot him through the heart — he died a death which emperors might envy, and his memory will live through endless generations.” Desperate, indeed, must have been the passion and anger of the man who, in the fullest certainty that immediate death must be its penalty, committed such a deed. As it seems to me, Colonel Ellsworth, however injudicious he may have been, was actually in the performance of his duty when taking down the flag of an enemy.

In the evening I visited Mr. Slidell, whom I found at home, with his family, Mrs. Slidell and her sister Madame Beauregard, wife of the general, two very charming young ladies, daughters of the house, and a parlor full of fair companions, engaged, as hard as they could, in carding lint with their fair hands. Among the company was Mr. Slidell's son, who had just travelled from school at the North, under a feigned name, in order to escape violence at the hands of the Union mobs which are said to be insulting and outraging every Southern man. The conversation, as is the case in most Creole domestic circles, was carried on in French, I rarely met a man whose features have a greater finesse and firmness of purpose than Mr. Slidell's; his keen gray eye is full of life ; his thin, firmly-set lips indicate resolution and passion. Mr. Slidell, though born in a Northern State, is perhaps one of the most determined disunionists in the Southern Confederacy; he is not a speaker of note, nor a ready stump orator, nor an able writer; but he is an excellent judge of mankind, adroit, persevering, and subtle, full of device, and fond of intrigue; one of those men, who, unknown almost to the outer world, organizes and sustains a faction, and exalts it into the position of a party — what is called here a “wire-puller.” Mr. Slidell is to the South something greater than Mr. Thurlow Weed has been to his party in the North. He, like every one else, is convinced that recognition must come soon; but, under any circumstances, he is quite satisfied, the government and independence of the Southern Confederacy are as completely established as those of any power in the world. Mr. Slidell and the members of his family possess naïveté, good sense, and agreeable manners; and the regrets I heard expressed in Washington society, at their absence, had every justification.

I supped at the club, which I visited every day since I was made an honorary member, as all the journals are there, and a great number of planters and merchants, well acquainted with the state of affairs in the South. There were two Englishmen present, Mr. Lingam and another, the most determined secessionists and the most devoted advocates of slavery I have yet met in the course of my travels.

SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and South, p. 235-8

Diary of Lieutenant-Colonel Rutherford B. Hayes: Thursday March 6, 1862

Snow two or three inches deep on top of the mud. Dr. Webb and Adjutant Avery started for Raleigh in the storm, or rather on the snow and mud. There is no storm, merely snowing. P. M., with Captain McMullen and Lieutenant Bottsford rode out toward Bowyer's Ferry; horses “balled” badly; fired a few pistol shots. My Webby (new) shies some and was decidedly outraged when I fired sitting on his back. Practiced sabre exercise. Evening, heard the telegraphic news; General Lander's death, the only untoward event. How many of the favorites are killed! General Lyon, Colonel Baker, Major Winthrop, and now General Lander. I should mention Colonel Ellsworth also. He was a popular favorite, but by no means so fine or high a character as the others. Army in Tennessee “marching on.” The newspapers and the telegraph are under strict surveillance. Very little of army movements transpire[s]. On the upper Potomac a movement seems to be making on the enemy's left in the direction of Winchester. Night, very cold — very.

SOURCE: Charles Richard Williams, editor, Diary and Letters of Rutherford Birchard Hayes, Volume 2, p. 203

John Lothrop Motley to Mary Benjamin Motley, July 21, 1861

Woodland Hill, Sunday, July 21, 1861.

My Dearest Mary: I have not the time nor the matter for anything but a hasty line. I am obliged to write two days before the packet day, as I must go to Nahant to-morrow, Monday, and the next day I have promised to dine with old Mr. Quincy, at Quincy. I came up yesterday to dine with Mr. George Curtis and his wife, Ticknor, Everett, and Felton. You will see in the “Daily Advertiser” the proceedings of one or two public bodies by whom respectful tribute has been paid to Mr. Appleton's character. His mind was singularly calm and lucid to the last. On Wednesday I went to Cambridge, by invitation, to hear the exercises of commencement and to be present at the dinner. The performances were very creditable indeed, and I found at the dinner, at which there were some three hundred of the alumni present, several members of my class, and passed a very pleasant hour, the more so as Felton had faithfully promised me that I should not be called out for a speech. As I had received an LL. D. at the previous commencement in my absence, I could hardly refuse the invitation to the dinner. But two degrees of LL. D. were conferred on this occasion — one on Governor Andrew, and the other on General Scott. The announcement, which was made on the platform in the church, after the conclusion of the college exercises, of the governor's name was very well received, and there was much well-deserved cheering, for he has been most efficient and intelligent in his exertions ever since this damnable mutiny broke out, and it is much owing to his energy that Massachusetts has taken the noble stand which she now occupies in defense of the Constitution and the country.

But when the name of Winfield Scott was announced, there arose a tempest of cheers such as I am sure was never heard before at any academic celebration in Cambridge. I thought the church would have split to pieces like a bombshell, so irrepressible was the explosion of enthusiasm. ’T is a pity the old man couldn't have heard it with his own ears. He is used to huzzas from soldiers and politicians; but here were grave professors and clergymen, judges, young undergraduates and octogenarians, all hallooing like lunatics. And the same thing was repeated at the dinner when his health was drunk. You will see an account of the proceedings in the “Daily Advertiser” of the 18th of July.  . . . You will also observe that I was startled from my repose at the table, not by Felton, but by Everett, who made a most complimentary allusion to me far beyond my deserts, in his after-dinner speech. They insisted on my getting up and saying a few words of acknowledgment; but I was too much moved to make a speech, and they received my thanks with much cordiality.

Nothing can be better than Everett's speech at New York, — one of the most powerful commentaries on this rebellion that has ever been spoken or written, — and he has made several other addresses equally strong in tone. We are now in an era of good feeling throughout the North, and we no longer ask what position any man may have occupied, but where he stands now, and I am glad that we shall henceforth have the benefit of Everett's genius and eloquence on the right side.

Since I wrote last nothing very important has occurred; but now important events are fast approaching. I don't use this expression in the stereotype phraseology of the newspapers, because you must have perceived from all my letters that I did not in the least share the impatience of many people here.

The skirmish of the 18th was by detachments, only 800 men in all, of Tyler's brigade, commanded by him in person, and they are said to have behaved with great skill and gallantry. It is your old friend Daniel Tyler of Norwich, who, you know, was for a considerable part of his life in the army and was educated at West Point. He is now a brigadier-general, and, as you see, commands under McDowell, whom I described to you in my last. Montgomery Ritchie, by the way, is aide to a Colonel Blenker, who has a regiment in Tyler's brigade, and James Wadsworth is aide to McDowell. The affair at Bull Run is of no special importance; of course we don't know what losses the rebels sustained, nor is it material. These skirmishes must occur daily, until it appears whether the enemy mean to risk a pitched battle now, or whether they mean to continue to retire, as they have hitherto been steadily doing, before the advance of the Union forces. The question now is, Will they make a stand at Manassas, or will they retreat to Richmond? Beauregard, who commands at Manassas, is supposed to have at least 60,000 men, and Johnston, who was until two days ago at Winchester, is thought to be falling back to join him. On the other hand, while McDowell is advancing toward Manassas, Patterson, with 35,000 men (with whom is Gordon's regiment, Massachusetts Second), has moved from Martinsburg to Charlestown, and, as I thought, will soon make a junction with him, and McClellan is expected daily out of West Virginia. Thus some 120,000 Union troops are converging at Manassas, and if the rebels have sufficient appetite, there will soon be a great stand-up fight.

If they retreat, however, there will be more delays and more impatience, for it is obvious that the Union troops can gain no great victory until the rebels face them in the field. This has not yet been the case, but they have fired from behind batteries occasionally while our men were in the open. Hitherto nothing of importance has occurred except the slow advance of the Union and the slow retreat of the rebellion. Perhaps before this letter is posted, two days hence, something definite may have occurred in the neighborhood of Manassas. Day before yesterday I saw the Webster regiment reviewed on the Common. On the previous afternoon Governor Andrew had invited me to come to his room at the State House. I did so at the time appointed, and found no one there but the governor, his aides, Colonel Harrison Ritchie, Wetherell and Harry Lee, and Mr. Everett, who was to make a speech on presenting the colors to the regiment. I saw them march along Beacon Street in front of the State House, and thought they had a very knowing, soldierly look. They had been drilling for months down at Fort Independence, and are off for the seat of war to-morrow.

When the regiment had arrived on the Common and was drawn up in the Lower Mall, we proceeded to review them. Governor Andrew, in his cocked hat and general's uniform, took possession of Mr. Everett, and the two were flanked by four aides-de-camp, effulgent in what the newspapers call the “gorgeous panoply of war,” while I was collared by the adjutant-general and the stray colonel, and made to march solemnly between them. What the populace thought of me, I don't know, but I believe that I was generally supposed to be a captured secessionist, brought along to grace the triumph of the governor. Well, we marched on, followed by a battalion of escort guards and preceded by a band of music, to the Mall, and then the Webster regiment went through its manœuvers for our benefit, and that of some thousands of enthusiastic spectators besides.

Of course I am no judge of military matters, but they seemed to be admirably drilled, and one or two army officers with whom I spoke were of the same opinion, — one of these, by the way, was a Virginian, Marshall by name, a stanch Union man and nephew of the General Lee of Arlington, who so recently abandoned the side of General Scott for a high post in the rebel army, — but I am at least a judge of men's appearance, and it would be difficult to find a thousand better-looking men with more determined and resolute faces. They wear the uniform of the regular army, and their officers are nearly all young, vigorous men, of good education and social position. I had a little talk with Fletcher Webster, who seemed delighted to see me. Everett made a magnificent little speech on presenting the standard, and Webster a very manly and simple reply. The standard bears for inscription the motto from Webster's (the father's) famous speech, “Not a single stripe polluted, not a single star effaced,” together with the motto of Massachusetts, "Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem,” i. e., “With the sword she seeks tranquillity under the protection of liberty.” This has been the device of the Massachusetts seal for more than a century, I believe; but it is originally a plagiarism from Algernon Sydney.

I am delighted with all that you tell me of the Duke and Duchess of Argyll and their warm and friendly sympathy; of Lord Granville; of Lord de Grey; of Milnes and Forster and Stirling. I haven't time to mention all the names of those whom you speak of as being stanch in our cause — the great cause of humanity and civilization. To check and circumscribe African slavery, and at the same time to uphold free constitutional government, is a noble task. If the great Republic perishes in the effort, it dies in a good cause. But it isn't dying yet; never had so much blood in it. Qui vivra verra.

You say that I have not mentioned Sumner in my letters. I thought that I had. I saw him two or three times before I went to Washington. He is very well in health and unchanged in opinions or expectations, except that, like all of us, he has been made far more sanguine than ever before as to the issue of the struggle. He came to Washington before I left it, but we did not go together. He has of course remained there for the session. I have heard from him twice or thrice; but as I now write from America, I never quote any one's opinions, but send you my own for what they are worth. In this letter there is little of consequence.

I am delighted with what you say about the sea-coast arrangement with the Hugheses, and trust sincerely that it may be made. You cannot but be happy with such charming, sincere, and noble characters, and I envy you the privilege of their society. Pray thank Hughes for that most sympathetic dedication to Lowell.

I am glad that the book is finished, that I may now read it with the same delight which the first one gave me. I saw Lowell commencement day, and promised to go out and dine with him some day next week. He is going to send for Hawthorne. Alas! he meant to have had Longfellow. We shall have Holmes, Agassiz, and others, and shall drink Hughes's health. I forgot to say that I saw at Felton's house young Brownell of the Ellsworth Zouaves. He, you may remember, was at Ellsworth's side as he came down-stairs at the Marshall House, Alexandria, and was shot dead by Jackson. Brownell, who was a corporal in the regiment, immediately shot Jackson through the head. He has since been made a lieutenant in the army, and is here on recruiting service. He is a very quiet, good-looking youth of about twenty-two. The deed has no especial claim to distinction, except its promptness. You remember that it was at the very first occupation of Alexandria, and Jackson supposed, when he came out of a dark closet and fired at Ellsworth, that secession was still triumphant in the town. Brownell took out of his pocket a fragment of the secession flagstaff which Ellsworth had just taken from the housetop, and gave me a bit of it as a relic. The reason why Ellsworth was so anxious to pull down the flag was that it was visible at the White House of Washington, and therefore an eyesore to the President.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Library Edition, Volume 2, p. 181-7

Lieutenant William Brockenbrough Newton to Mary Page Newton, July 22, 1861

Centreville, July 22,1861.

My Dear —: — For the last four days we have never been longer than two hours in any one place, have slept upon the ground in good weather and bad, eaten nothing but crackers and fried bacon, and rested little at any time; for all of which privations and a thousand others we have been more than compensated (thanks to the just God who governs the councils of history and decrees the destiny of nations) in the glorious results of yesterday. On the morning of the 17th, we had received reliable information that the enemy was advancing, over 50,000 strong, and were not surprised, at five o'clock in the morning, to hear the fire of our pickets, who were slowly retiring before the advancing foe. The order was given to pack. In ten minutes baggage was packed, tents struck, and the wagons driven to the rear; and the whole command forward to line of battle. In a few minutes the glittering bayonets of the enemy lined the neighbouring hills. From the heavy signal-guns being fired at intervals along our line — commencing at Germantown and stretching along to Fairfax Court-House — it was evident that the enemy was endeavouring to surround our little band; but our “Little Trump,” as the men call Beauregard, was not to be taken by any such game. Every preparation was made to deceive the enemy, by inducing him to believe that we meditated a vigorous resistance Meantime our column defiled through a densely wooded road, and was far on the way to Centreville when the enemy discovered his mistake. He followed on very cautiously.  To our troop, with Kemper's Battery, was assigned the post of honour, and charged with the duty of covering the retreat. We were the last to leave the village, and as we went out at one end of the street, his column appeared at the other. We halted at this place about four o'clock in the afternoon, and again made show of battle — slept until twelve o'clock at the heads of our horses. We silently left the place, the enemy's pickets being within hailing distance of our own. At daybreak we were across Bull Run, having marched very slowly to keep pace with the infantry. We found beds of leaves in the woods, wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and slept for an hour or two, until we were aroused by the roar of the enemy's guns as he opened his batteries upon our lines. For two mortal hours shot and shell flew thick along our whole line. This day's work was evidently intended only to draw the fire of our artillery, and show where our batteries were, in consequence of which our gunners were ordered not to fire a single shot, unless within point-blank range. After thus opening the ball, two dense masses of infantry were sent to defile to the right and left, to make two separate attacks. It was indeed a beautiful sight as they came down in perfect order, and with the stealthy step of veterans. They came nearer and yet nearer, and yet no shot from our guns. Our men began to mutter, and say that we were preparing for another retreat. But in a few moments the appointed time arrived. A single shot from the Washington Artillery gave the signal of death, and for half an hour there was nothing but a continuous sheet of flame along the right of our lines. The enemy fell back, rallied, and charged again, with a like result. Again they rested, and rushed forward, but old Virginia was true to herself, and the gallant Seventeenth and Eighteenth Regiments charged them with the bayonet, and drove them back in utter confusion. The cavalry were held in reserve, and although within range of the artillery, and constantly experiencing the sensation which men may be supposed to indulge, who know there is a hidden danger hovering in the air, without knowing where it is to light, took no part in the action. Our time came yesterday, however. Our troop was for four hours in the hottest of the fight, and every man in it won the applause and approbation of the whole camp. The action commenced at eight o'clock on the sweet Sabbath morning. The enemy commenced with quite a heavy cannonade upon our right, which proved to be a mere feint, to distract our attention, as his main attack was directed to our left wing. At ten o'clock the enemy had crossed the river on our left, and then the fighting commenced in earnest. From the hill on which we stood, we could see, from the smoke and dust, though at the distance of several miles, how the fight was waging on our left. Some thought the enemy was retreating; others that our men had fallen back. It was an hour of painful interest. At eleven o'clock an aid-de-camp rode up in a gallop, and said our men were retiring — the cavalry was ordered to the left. We were temporarily attached to Radford's regiment — ours was the first company, and mine was the first platoon. On we dashed in a gallop, and as we passed within range of a battery of rifled cannon a ball was fired at us which passed between Wickham and myself, knocking up a cloud of dust. Without wavering in their ranks, the men and horses dashed forward at a gallop. As we reached the scene of action the sight was discouraging in the extreme. The enemy had at first the advantage of every attacking party. He had concentrated his forces for an attack upon one point. The First Louisiana Regiment and the Fourth Alabama, attacked in flank and centre by 30,000 men, were literally cut to pieces. They refused to surrender, but retired slowly, disputing every inch of ground. As we rode up we could meet parts of companies which had been utterly overwhelmed—the men wounded, their arms broken, while some of them were carrying off their dead in blankets. Every thing looked like retreat. We were ordered up to within five hundred yards of the enemy's artillery, behind a hill which afforded some protection against their destructive fire. For one hour the fire raged with incessant fury. A ball passed over the hill and through our ranks, grazing one of our men. A shell exploded just under Radford's horse, and every minute shot and shell were continually whistling by us. I can give you no conception of that awful hour. Not a man shrank from his post. Two of our men were taken exceedingly sick, one fainting from the heat and excitement. Such calmness and composure I never witnessed. To make the matter worse, despondency, if not despair, was fast writing itself upon every face. The fire was evidently approaching us. Our friends were retiring, and the whispered rumour passed from lip to lip that our artillery ammunition was running low. In a moment, however, a cloud of dust in our rear showed the approach of our wagons, coming up at a dashing rate, with a fresh supply. Our reinforcements now commenced pouring in. Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama, Mississippi, and Tennessee swept by in their glittering array with the calm light of battle on their faces, and their bayonets gleaming in the quiet Sabbath sunshine. No man faltered, no man lagged behind. Neither the groans of the dying nor the shrieks of the wounded, as they passed by in crowded ambulances, seemed to produce any impression except to fix the determination upon the countenances of all, to win or to die upon the field. The tide now seemed to ebb, just enough to keep us from despair. The firing did not advance, although the explosion of their shells was terrific in the extreme. A gleam of hope, too, gradually broke in upon us, when Kemper's Battery, which had been posted in our centre, galloped up and opened a destructive fire upon our extreme left. The advance was evidently checked, when a loud cheer in the front told us that something unusual had happened. What was it? Was it the triumph of our enemies over our poor stricken friends; or was it some advantage gained by courage in defence of right? The suspense was awful. Men stood straight in their stirrups and stretched their eyes as if they could pierce the rugged bosom of the barren hill which raised its scarred front between them. An aid passed up. His message is written on his face, and before he speaks a word a wild shout breaks from the throats of thousands. When he speaks, another, another and another round of cheers told the story to our hitherto sinking hearts. The Fourth Virginia Regiment had taken Sprague's Rhode Island Battery of six pieces, at the point of the bayonet. Scarcely had the echo of our cheers died away when again the noise of shouting broke upon the air. What was it? Had the enemy rallied and retaken the guns? Fear struggled with hope. But no: the gallant Twenty-seventh, envious of the glorious achievement of the Fourth, at a single dash had charged a regiment of regulars, swept them from the field, and taken every gun in Sherman's Battery.¹  The firing of musketry and the rattling of bayonets was now terrible beyond description. For one hour there was an incessant cracking of rifles, without a single moment's pause. The enemy were evidently retiring, and unless reinforced from the left and centre, the day was ours.

To prevent this, our field telegraph had already given the signal for movement upon our own right, and a heavy fire of musketry and artillery told us that Bonham's Brigade, to which we had been attached in the morning, had crossed the run and were pouring it into the enemy's centre. The South Carolina boys dashed up the hill in face of a murderous fire, bayoneted their gunners, and took quiet possession of their central battery. It was three o'clock, and the day was ours. The Washington Artillery galloped up the hill on which we were posted, and opened a perfect Vesuvius of shot and shell upon the receding foe. Colonel Lay then rode up and told us that the time for us to act had arrived. Our whole body of cavalry, 2,700 strong, now rushed like the wind to the front. It was indeed a brilliant spectacle, as, with slackened rein and sabres drawn, the whole command dashed past. The whole line resounded with continued cheering. The force was divided into different detachments. Colonel Radford, with six companies, was ordered to cross a short distance below the enemy's extreme right, and intercept his column. Our company was in front, and I was riding in front of my platoon, when, after crossing the swamp, we came suddenly on a detachment of the enemy concealed in the bushes, with their pieces levelled. The Colonel ordered the charge, and our boys rushed on. Poor Edmund Fontaine was at my side when we rode over two of them, and they grounded their arms to Ed. Winston, who was just in our rear. We galloped on in pursuit of the rest, who retreated across a field, towards the road on which the enemy was retreating. Fontaine was just behind me. Saunders, a fine young fellow, just twenty-four years of age, and splendidly mounted, dashed by us. The enemy had concealed themselves behind a fence; we rode up, and I demanded their surrender; they made no reply. I ordered Saunders to fire; before he levelled his carbine the whole squad poured in a volley. Saunders fell dead at my feet, and Edmund Fontaine reeled in his saddle, exclaiming, “Save me, boys; I am killed!” He was caught in the arms of his cousin, who was just in my rear. Three of my platoon fired, and the two who had shot Fontaine and Saunders fell dead in their tracks. We were now in full view of the enemy's columns, passing in rapid and disorderly retreat along the road, with two pieces of artillery, a large number of baggage-wagons, and some officers' carriages. Colonel Radford, who is a soldier of experience, knew the strength of the enemy and ordered a halt, commanding the men to form. But such a thing was utterly impossible. The men seemed perfectly delirious with excitement, and with a wild shout of, “The guns, the guns!” our whole company rushed pell-mell upon the battery, which proved to be another detachment of the Rhode Island Artillery. Such a scene of wild excitement I never witnessed. My platoon had been detached from the company, and the company from the regiment. There were two caissons and two guns; the guns behind the caissons. My platoon, which was furthest down the road, rushed upon the men who guarded them. One fellow was standing on the caisson, whipping the horses to make them run; they had become so much alarmed that they stood perfectly still, and trembled. I made a blow at him with my sabre, knocked him off the caisson, and he was shot twice before he reached the ground. Meantime Wms. C. Wickham (who behaved admirably), with the main body, crossed the road higher up, and when the main body of the regiment came up, our company, with some of the Alexandria cavalry, had killed and wounded every man at the guns, and driven the infantry supports in rapid retreat. When we left we expected to be supported by infantry and artillery, and you may imagine our astonishment when, with not quite 300 men, we found that we had nearly cut into the enemy's column, and upon looking one hundred yards down the road, we found them preparing to open on us with two guns supported by six regiments of infantry. The Colonel at once ordered a retreat, so we shot the horses to the caissons, so as to block up the road, and retreated, not, however, before they had poured in upon us four rounds of grape and canister at one hundred and fifty yards' distance. How we escaped a perfect massacre I cannot say. Had they not been so close to us the slaughter would have been terrible. Four of our men were killed. Captain Radford, brother of the Colonel, was literally blown to pieces.  I escaped without a scratch, (as did all the rest of the officers,) excepting quite a severe bruise caused by my horse having pressed my leg against the wheel to the gun-carriage. We brought off several prisoners, a great many pistols, and several horses. Just ahead of the guns was a very handsome open carriage. As soon as they saw us, such a rush! It is suspected, or rather hoped, that Wilson, of Massachusetts, (who was, it is known, on the field,) was in it. One of our men, Linkey by name, took it into his head that General Scott was in it, pursued and overtook it, but at the distance of thirty steps fired his musketine, with eighteen buck-shot, right into the back window.

As we returned, a melancholy mistake occurred. Bowles, our second lieutenant, who was carrying poor Fontaine to the hospital, with one or two others, met a detachment of four of the Appomattox cavalry, who hailed him. It is said that, instead of giving the signal agreed upon in our camp, by raising the hand to the top of the head, he took them for the enemy, and answered “Federal troops.” They fired and he fell dead. Our company received, upon its return, the congratulations of every officer on General Bonham's staff, to whom Colonel R. had spoken of the conduct of our men. To-day it has been raining incessantly. Our column pushed on this morning to this place. Our company was assigned the advance-guard, and this morning at ten o'clock, I had the honor of occupying the city of Centreville. The citizens tell us that about twelve o'clock last night the cry passed through the camp that the Virginia horsemen were upon them, when they left in wild confusion. Our triumph has been complete. In two days our noble army has driven them back to Alexandria, captured forty-two guns, many colors, and how many prisoners I will not venture to say. After we reached this place, we were ordered to explore the surrounding country in quest of fugitives. We took eighteen prisoners, and got back just at night, very wet. You never saw such a collection of property as was left in their flight. Hundreds of muskets, gun-carriages, wagon horses; thousands of knapsacks, oil-cloths and blankets, hogsheads of sugar, barrels of pork, beans, etc.; in short, every thing you can conceive. We found to-day over five hundred splendid army overcoats.

The men are amusing themselves to-night reading letters, of which there were thousands left on the field. Some of them were directed to Mr. So-and-So, expected at Manassas Junction. Some asked for a piece of the floor of the house in which Ellsworth was killed, with blood on it; while others confidently express the belief that Beauregard's scalp was to be carried to Washington. When I tell you that we supped to-night on Yankee crackers, Yankee coffee, and a nice beef-tongue, actually left on the hearth of one of the officers' quarters, in a kettle, ready to be set on the fire — that this is written with a Yankee pencil, given me by one of the men, and on Yankee paper, taken from their wagons, and that I am sitting on a Yankee camp-stool, and writing by a Yankee candle, you can form some idea of the utter rout. I have a pincushion for L., picked up on the field, a needle-case for K., and a sword taken from a Vermont volunteer, for W. Our troops occupy Fairfax Court House to-day. I will try and see you soon. Good-night. God bless and protect you. I feel that he has protected me in the last few days, in answer to the prayers of a pious wife. I hope that I feel grateful for my preservation.

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¹ The capture attributed to the 27th Virginia is probably a mistake. The honor claimed for that regiment has since been ascribed to Fisher's 6th North Carolina regiment. In the excitement of the occasion, the writer of the letter may have been misinformed. The author is glad to make the correction. All honor is certainly due to the noble “Old North State,” which, it has always been said, sent a larger number of troops to the field, in proportion to its population, than any other State in the Confederacy, and which buried so many thousands of its gallant sons, in defence of our “lost cause.”

Note By The Publishers. — Both the statements are probably true, to some extent. We have unquestionable evidence that Fisher's regiment captured one section of Sherman's battery just before Col. Fisher received his mortal wound. But the same evidence shows that there was another section (both under Captain Ricketts) which was captured by other troops; our friend does not know what troops, but no doubt the 27th Virginia.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 55-64, 360

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: May 27, 1861

They look for a fight at Norfolk. Beauregard is there. I think if I were a man I'd be there, too. Also Harper's Ferry is to be attacked. The Confederate flag has been cut down at Alexandria by a man named Ellsworth,¹ who was in command of Zouaves. Jackson was the name of the person who shot Ellsworth in the act. Sixty of our cavalry have been taken by Sherman's brigade. Deeper and deeper we go in.

Thirty of Tom Boykin's company have come home from Richmond. They went as a rifle company, armed with muskets. They were sandhill tackeys — those fastidious ones, not very anxious to fight with anything, or in any way, I fancy. Richmond ladies had come for them in carriages, feted them, waved handkerchiefs to them, brought them dainties with their own hands, in the faith that every Carolinian was a gentleman, and every man south of Mason and Dixon's line a hero. But these are not exactly descendants of the Scotch Hay, who fought the Danes with his plowshare, or the oxen's yoke, or something that could hit hard and that came handy.

Johnny has gone as a private in Gregg's regiment. He could not stand it at home any longer. Mr. Chesnut was willing for him to go, because those sandhill men said “this was a rich man's war,” and the rich men would be the officers and have an easy time and the poor ones would be privates. So he said: “Let the gentlemen set the example; let them go in the ranks.” So John Chesnut is a gentleman private. He took his servant with him all the same.

Johnny reproved me for saying, “If I were a man, I would not sit here and dole and drink and drivel and forget the fight going on in Virginia.” He said it was my duty not to talk so rashly and make enemies. He “had the money in his pocket to raise a company last fall, but it has slipped through his fingers, and now he is a common soldier.” “You wasted it or spent it foolishly,” said I. “I do not know where it has gone,” said he. “There was too much consulting over me, too much good counsel was given to me, and everybody gave me different advice.” “Don't you ever know your own mind?” “We will do very well in the ranks; men and officers all alike; we know everybody.”

So I repeated Mrs. Lowndes's solemn words when she heard that South Carolina had seceded alone: “As thy days so shall thy strength be.” Don't know exactly what I meant, but thought I must be impressive as he was going away. Saw him off at the train. Forgot to say anything there, but cried my eyes out.

Sent Mrs. Wigfall a telegram — “Where shrieks the wild sea-mew?” She answered: “Sea-mew at the Spotswood Hotel. Will shriek soon. I will remain here.”

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¹ Ephraim Elmer Ellsworth was a native of Saratoga County, New York. In 1860 he organized a regiment of Zouaves and became its Colonel. He accompanied Lincoln to Washington in 1861 and was soon sent with his regiment to Alexandria, where, on seeing a Confederate flag floating from a hotel, he personally rushed to the roof and tore it down. The owner of the hotel, a man named Jackson, met him as he was descending and shot him dead. Frank E. Brownell, one of Ellsworth's men, then killed Jackson.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 58-9

John Lothrop Motley to Mary Benjamin Motley, June 20, 1861

Washington,

June 20th, 1861.

My Dearest Mary, — I told you that I went with Seward in the evening of Monday to see the President. He looks younger than I expected — less haggard than the pictures — and on the whole, except for his height, which is two or three inches above six feet, would not be remarked in any way as ill- or well-looking. His conversation was commonplace enough, and I can hardly remember a single word that he said, except when we were talking — all three — about the military plans in progress, he observed, not meaning anything like an epigram, “Scott will not let us outsiders know anything of his plans.” He seemed sincere and honest, however, and steady, but of course it is quite out of the question for me to hazard an opinion on so short an acquaintance as to his moral or intellectual qualities.

Seward impresses me as being decidedly a man of intellect, but seems an egotist. . . . There is no doubt whatever that the early impressions of the Foreign Ministers here were favourable to the success of the rebellion, and that these impressions were conveyed to their Governments. Mercier, the French Minister, was most decided in his views and his sympathies, while Lord Lyons, calm and quiet as you know him to be, as well as sagacious and right-minded, had also little doubt, I suspect, six or seven weeks ago that the secession or revolution was an accomplished fact. Hence the anxiety of their Governments to be on good terms with the rebels, particularly after the astounding misrepresentations of the Southern commissioners. It amuses Americans very much when I tell them that the recognition of Mr. Adams was remonstrated against by those individuals.

I dined with Lord Lyons yesterday, and M. Mercier was there. Of course we spoke of little else but American affairs. There is no need of quoting the conversation, but it is sufficient to say that little doubt seems now to exist in the minds of either that the United States Government is sure to put down this rebellion and remain a great power—greater than ever before.

The encouragement which the rebels have derived from their premature recognition which they have received as belligerents, and still more by the exclusion of our ships of war as well as their pirates from the English ports all over the world, for the purpose of bringing in prizes, while on the contrary France does not exclude our ships of war, but only privateers, has already given the rebellion a new lease of life. Still more pernicious is the hope which is now entertained by the rebels, that so soon as the new cotton crop is ready to come forward — say in October — England will break up our blockade, and of course become instantly involved in war with us. I refuse to contemplate such a possibility. It would be madness on the part of England, for at the very moment when it would ally itself with the South against the United States, for the sake of supplying the English manufacturers with their cotton, there would be a cry of twenty millions as from one mouth for the instant emancipation of all the slaves.

Nothing could resist that cry. The sentiment of the Free States would be more overwhelming even than its manifestation so lately, which has surprised the world by the rising as it were out of the earth in the brief space of six weeks, of a well equipped and disciplined army of 250,000 men. The alliance of England with the South for the sake of re-opening the cotton ports would have for its instant result the total destruction of the cotton interest. An invading army at half a dozen different ports would proclaim the instant abolition of slavery.

There is not the slightest exaggeration in this. No logic can be more inexorable, and the opinion is avowed on all sides.

To break our blockade for the sake of getting cotton for Manchester, would lead to the total extermination of the cotton crop for many a long year. No English statesman can be blind to this, and therefore I do not fear any interference on the part of England. The South, however, does expect such interference, and will in consequence prolong its struggle a little.

I passed the whole of the day before yesterday on the other side of the Potomac — the “sacred soil of Virginia.” We hired a carriage and took it on board a small steamer plying to Alexandria. The sail for about half a dozen miles along the broad, magnificent Potomac, under a cloudless sky, but protected by an awning, was very pleasant. The heat is not excessive yet, and there is usually a good air stirring. The expanse of hill and dale and the wooded heights which surround the margin of the beautiful river make a delightful passage of scenery. Alexandria, but lately a bustling tobacco port, is now like a city of the dead so far as anything like traffic is concerned. It is the head-quarters of General McDowell, an experienced army officer, who commands all the Union troops (some 25,000) in this part of Virginia.

We went to the Marshall House, the principal hotel of the place, where, as I suppose you read in the papers, Colonel Ellsworth of the New York Zouaves was killed. He had gone in person to the top of the house to cut down a Secession flag, and was coming down the stairs with it, when he was shot by the master of the house, one Jackson, who in his turn was instantly despatched by a private in the regiment. Ellsworth is much regretted as a young officer of great courage and irreproachable character.

By the way, you should read in the Atlantic for June and July a very spirited account of the march of the New York 7th to Washington. It was written by Major Winthrop of New York, who was killed the other day in that unlucky and blundering affair of General Pierce at Great Bethel. These outpost skirmishes are of little consequence to their ultimate results, but they serve to encourage the enemy a little. On the other hand, they read a useful lesson to Government upon the folly of appointing militia officers to high command when there is no lack of able and experienced army officers. Of these there are plenty, and no idea is more ridiculous than that the South has got all the officers and all the military material. The bone and sinew of the Free States are probably the best raw material for troops in the world. General Scott told me last night that the Massachusetts volunteers in a few months would be equal to the best regulars. To an unsophisticated eye they are nearly so already.

A regiment marched into Washington yesterday morning— the Massachusetts 1st—and with their steady march, stout frames, good equipments, and long train of baggage waggons, drawn by admirable teams of horses, following them, they looked very business-like, I assure you. And this regiment is but a tenth part of the men whom Massachusetts has already contributed. As for New York, I am afraid to say how many are already here, and they are wonderfully well-drilled — at least 20,000 — and they can send on as many more as can possibly be required. The contention now among the States is to get the largest proportion of their regiments accepted. The manner in which these great armies have been so suddenly improvised is astounding to foreigners. “C'est le pays des improvisations” said Mr. Mercier to me yesterday. From Alexandria we went on to Shuter's Hill, one of the heights commanding Washington, where, under guidance of Colonel Wright, the engineer who built the works, we examined the very considerable fortifications which have been erected here.

It is very interesting to see the volunteers working with pick and spade under the broiling sun of Virginia, without complaint or inconvenience. They are men who have never doubted that labour was honourable.

We afterwards went to Arlington House, formerly the seat of Washington Custis, and now the property of General Lee. He is an excellent officer, and was, before his defection, a favourite of General Scott. The place has great natural beauties of hill and dale, lawn and forest, and commands a magnificent view of Washington and the whole valley of the Potomac; but the house is mean. It is now the head-quarters of General McDowell (I was wrong in saying further back that these were at Alexandria). Colonel Heintzelmann commands there, and there are some New York regiments encamped in the grounds. I observed one alley through the tents had been christened Fifth Avenue. The property is thoroughly respected, and the soldiers have even amused their leisure in planting little gardens about their tents instead of destroying or defacing anything.

Thus we passed the day in going about the lines from one point to another, receiving explanations of everything from most intelligent officers — generally of the regular army. The works at the Tete du Pont, to defend the mile-long bridge which crosses the Potomac from the Virginia side to Washington, are very thorough, and the attempt upon Washington, if made, must, I think, result in a total defeat. I passed an hour with General Scott last night at his house in Washington. He tells me still that he expects an attack daily along the whole line, says that the rebels are perhaps in greater number than those which he has in the immediate neighbourhood, but that his are much better troops. I could not make out that he had any reasons to expect an attack, except upon the logical ground that they must do it, or come to grief by remaining inactive. They are poorly provisioned, impatient, and in danger of disbanding. Meantime, Scott has secured Harper's Ferry, a most important strategical position, without striking a blow. They were forced to evacuate the place to escape being surrounded. “Eeate d savoir” how it will be at Manassas Junction. The General pleases me exceedingly. He is in manner quiet, but hale, vigorous, and full of energy, and has no doubt whatever of bringing the whole matter to a happy issue within a reasonable time. But the things which annoy him most are the lying telegrams of the newspapers and the general impatience of outsiders. I spent an hour and a half with Seward last evening, and afterwards called at the White House on Mrs. Lincoln. She is rather nice-looking, youngish, with very round white arms, well dressed, chatty enough, and if she would not, like all the South and West, say “Sir” to you every instant, as if you were a royal personage, she would be quite agreeable.

SOURCE: George William Curtis, editor, The Correspondence of John Lothrop Motley in Two Volumes, Volume 1, p. 382-7

Diary of Judith W. McGuire: May 25, 1861

Fairfax C. H. — The day of suspense is at an end. Alexandria and its environs, including, I greatly fear, our home, are in the hands of the enemy. Yesterday morning, at an early hour, as I was in my pantry, putting up refreshments for the barracks preparatory to a ride to Alexandria, the door was suddenly thrown open by a servant, looking wild with excitement, exclaiming, “Oh, madam, do you know?” “Know what, Henry?” “Alexandria is filled with Yankees.” “Are you sure, Henry?” said I, trembling in every limb. “Sure, madam! I saw them myself. Before I got up I heard soldiers rushing by the door; went out, and saw our men going to the cars.” “Did they get off?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer. “Oh, yes, the cars went off full of them, and some marched out; and then I went to King Street, and saw such crowds of Yankees coming in! They came down the turnpike, and some came down the river; and presently I heard such noise and confusion, and they said they were fighting, so I came home as fast as I could.” I lost no time in seeking Mr. ____, who hurried out to hear the truth of the story.  He soon met Dr. ____, who was bearing off one of the editors in his buggy. He more than confirmed Henry's report, and gave an account of the tragedy at the Marshall House. Poor Jackson (the proprietor) had always said that the Confederate flag which floated from the top of his house should never be taken down but over his dead body. It was known that he was a devoted patriot, but his friends had amused themselves at this rash speech. He was suddenly aroused by the noise of men rushing by his room-door, ran to the window, and seeing at once what was going on, he seized his gun, his wife trying in vain to stop him; as he reached the passage he saw Colonel Ellsworth coming from the third story, waving the flag. As he passed Jackson he said, “I have a trophy.” Jackson immediately raised his gun, and in an instant Ellsworth fell dead. One of the party immediately killed poor Jackson. The Federals then proceeded down the street, taking possession of public houses, etc. I am mortified to write that a party of our cavalry, thirty-five in number, was captured. It can scarcely be accounted for. It is said that the Federals notified the authorities in Alexandria that they would enter the city at eight, and the captain was so credulous as to believe them. Poor fellow, he is now a prisoner, but it will be a lesson to him and to our troops generally. Jackson leaves a wife and children. I know the country will take care of them. He is the first martyr. I shudder to think how many more there may be.

The question with us was, what was next to be done?  Mr. ____ had voted for secession, and there were Union people enough around us to communicate every thing of the sort to the Federals; the few neighbours who were left were preparing to be off, and we thought it most prudent to come off too. Pickets were already thrown out beyond Shuter's Hill, and they were threatening to arrest all secessionists. With a heavy heart I packed trunks and boxes, as many as our little carriage would hold; had packing boxes fixed in my room for the purpose of bringing off valuables of various sorts, when I go down on Monday; locked up every thing; gave the keys to the cook, enjoining upon the servants to take care of the cows, “Old Rock,” the garden, the flowers, and last, but not least, J____’s splendid Newfoundland. Poor dog, as we got into the carriage how I did long to take him! When we took leave of the servants they looked sorrowful, and we felt so. I promised them to return to-day, but Mr. ____ was so sick this morning that I could not leave him, and have deferred it until day after to-morrow. Mr. ____ said, as he looked out upon the green lawn just before we set off, that he thought he had never seen the place so attractive; and as we drove off the bright flowers we had planted seemed in full glory; every flower-bed seemed to glow with the “Giant of Battles” and other brilliant roses. In bitterness of heart I exclaimed, “Why must we leave thee, Paradise!” and for the first time my tears streamed. As we drove by “The Seminary,” the few students who remained came out to say “Good-by.” One of them had just returned from Alexandria, where he had seen the bodies of Ellsworth and Jackson, and another, of which we had heard through one of our servants who went to town in the morning. When the Federal troops arrived, a man being ordered to take down the secession flag from above the market-house, and run up the “stars and stripes,” got nearly to the flag, missed his foothold, fell, and broke his neck. This remarkable circumstance was told me by two persons who saw the body. Is it ominous? I trust and pray that it may be.

When we got to Bailey's Cross Roads, Mr. ____ said to me that we were obliged to leave our home, and as far as we have a right to any other, it makes not the slightest difference which road we take — we might as well drive to the right hand as to the left — nothing remains to us but the barren, beaten track. It was a sorrowful thought; but we have kind relations and friends whose doors are open to us, and we hope to get home again before very long. The South did not bring on the war, and I believe that God will provide for the homeless.

About sunset we drove up to the door of this, the house of our relative, the Rev. Mr. B., and were received with the warmest welcome. As we drove through the village we saw the carriage of Commodore F. standing at the hotel door, and were soon followed by the C.'s of our neighbourhood and many others. They told us that the Union men of the town were pointing out the houses of the Secessionists, and that some of them had already been taken by Federal officers. When I think of all this my heart quails within me. Our future is so dark and shadowy, so much may, nay must, happen before we again become quiet, and get back, that I feel sad and dreary. I have no fear for the country — that must and will succeed; but our dear ones! — the representatives of every State, almost every family, from the Potomac to the Gulf of Mexico — how must they suffer, and how must we at home suffer in their behalf!

This little village has two or three companies quartered in it. It seems thoroughly aroused from the quiescent state which it was wont to indulge. Drums are beating, colours flying, and ever and anon we are startled by the sound of a gun. At Fairfax Station there are a good many troops, a South Carolina regiment at Centreville, and quite an army is collecting at Manassas Station. We shall be greatly outnumbered, I know, but numbers cannot make up for the zeal and patriotism of our Southern men fighting for home and liberty.

SOURCE: Judith W. McGuire, Diary of a Southern Refugee, During the War, p. 17-21